Free Brash by Nicola Marsh Page B

keep his bride-to-be happy. As Dorian’s private jet had left Vegas behind, Jack experienced a twinge of guilt at ditching Jess, before fortifying his resolve with the thought this was best for both of them.
    It would be bad enough working alongside her on the island but at least they’d have others around. On a six hour plane journey with just the two of them and a one-man-cabin-staff? Too close for comfort.
    So he’d been on the island a full two days, testing new dishes using local seafood, familiarizing himself with the resort’s kitchen where he’d be preparing the bulk of the food, focusing one hundred percent on ensuring the food for this wedding would be talked about for years to come. Not out of vanity but from a determination to repay Dorian for his faith in a drifter bum all those years ago.
    Creating a perfect seafood soufflé took time and patience, and Jack had taken his latest test out of the oven when he sensed rather than heard Jess enter the kitchen.
    He’d always been that way around her—on heightened alert, his skin buzzing with awareness inexplicably honed to her.
    “If you were naked under that apron, I would’ve just walked in on the perfect island view,” she said, her tone soft and sultry, her laughter teasing him to hardness in an instant.
    He straightened from the oven, laid the soufflé carefully on the bench, and watched it deflate. Pity the same couldn’t be said for his hard-on.
    “Have a good flight?”
    “Could’ve been better.” She sauntered across the kitchen in towering espadrilles, a white mini and a red polka dot halter-top, and he could’ve sworn she accentuated the sway of her hips. “If you’d been on it.”
    “Came out early. Had a ton of work to do.” He gestured around the kitchen and thanked God he hadn’t tidied up after this morning’s experiments. It looked like he’d been busy, lending weight to his lame-assed excuse, which centered around keeping away from her than the culinary frenzy he’d been in the last few days.
    “I can see that.” She dipped her finger in a bowl of white chocolate mousse layered with peppermint swirls, swiped a generous blob, and proceeded to lick it off the tip of her finger. In excruciating slowness.
    Jack bit back a groan and edged toward the island bench to hide his massive erection. She’d been here less than two minutes and he was already thinking with his cock, not his head.
    “Mmm…so good…” She sucked her finger and when the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the last mousse drops he swore.
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth, needing to get her out of here pronto before he swept utensils off the bench, spread-eagled her and fucked her until they both couldn’t walk.
    “Better leave you to it,” she said, with a purely feminine laugh that taunted and tantalized. “I just stopped by to say hi.”
    She turned to go and he tried not to perve on her ass. And failed.
    “Almost forgot.” She glanced over her shoulder a second too fast and caught him staring, her triumphant grin not helping his little fantasy to wipe it off her face with a fast and furious fuck. “We’re going over the cake table tonight. I’m exhausted so I’m off to have a nap.”
    She yawned and he couldn’t tell if it were faked. “Come by my villa at seven and we’ll start working on it.”
    “We can work here…” he said, his response falling on deaf ears as she strutted away on those towering cork heels, the red espadrille ribbons winding around her calves like a crimson guide map to nirvana above.
    “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing a ball of pizza dough and flinging it on the floured board.
    But he knew a round of heavy-handed kneading wouldn’t ease the tension making him want to run after her and get this insane lust out of his system.

 
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
    Burlesque Bombshell Basics
     
     
    A perfect red pout encapsulates the Pin-Up Dolls of the 1940s. Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, Lana